


A call from Trenzalore

by Galexi



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Episode: 2013 Xmas The Time of the Doctor, Episode: s08e01 Deep Breath, Friendship, Gen, POV First Person, Regeneration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-19 14:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galexi/pseuds/Galexi
Summary: When Eleven's hour is drawing to a close, the Doctor is more frightened than you can ever imagine. Sat in the silent TARDIS on Trenzalore he calls Clara, a future Clara who he hopes will be able to help him. Several centuries earlier and back on Earth, the Doctor still needs his Impossible Girl. But will Clara be able to accept this new man, who looks and acts nothing like her Doctor? All the Doctor's hopes rest on a call from Trenzalore.





	1. One Last Bow

**Author's Note:**

> If some of you have been in the fandom for a while, you may recognise parts of this story. Five years ago, just after ‘Deep Breath’ premiered in 2014, I was inspired and wrote my very first published story over on FanFiction.net entitled ‘A Call from Trenzalore’. It’s remained my most popular story on the site - despite my dodgy grammar and spelling - and gets a handful of views every month. Five years on, I wanted to challenge myself to write the story again, using everything I’ve learnt. I’m still by no means perfect, but I feel my writing has improved significantly. Feel free to head over there to check it out if you want, cringey author's notes and all.
> 
> This story is therefore dedicated to all new writers, young and old. May you keep writing and making mistakes to learn from. You can only improve on what you’ve already written, no matter how awful it is.

The tingling and fizzing, the craving of something unknown, it was all too similar to when I first changed into this body. And the fear. But it wasn't for who I would become. No, not for that. Not this time. I will always be the Doctor. Soon, I will die on this battlefield where I’ve lived and fought for nine hundred years, yet I have never once renounced my name. Not this time. I’m old enough to realise now that I am still the Doctor, whatever changes may come my way. I will always remember the cool hats and the taste of fish custard as I will always remember the scarf and the jelly babies. Change isn’t something to fear, it’s something amazing, something magical, something to look forward to. I didn't think I would ever change again, but soon I will once more.

Yet, fear still rushed in my veins. My fear for Clara. My wonderful Impossible Girl. The one who had come back for me so I wouldn't die alone. In my jumble of memories, I can remember another impossible girl, the one who reminded me of what it was like to love life and see the wonder in the universe again. I can remember her fear and confusion from when I changed and how much she wanted my old body back. I remember her voice sounding small and frightened as she pleaded to go home. I can still see the suspicion in her eyes as she wondered what had happened to _her_ Doctor, what had taken him away from her, what dared to impersonate him. The silhouette of a past console room drifts into focus around me and I can see Rose crouched in despair behind one of the coral supports trying to hide from me. In time, she had realised I was still the Doctor, but I wish I could have explained to her what was about to happen beforehand. If only I had more time.

But this time I hope I can make some time if I can just hold on for a little longer. I walk up the long corridors from the wardrobe back up to the console to try to ring Clara. Sure, she knows about my ability to regenerate and change from her trip through my Time Stream, unlike Rose who had no idea what was to come. But experiencing it for the first time was bound to still unsettle her. I hope I haven't changed too much over these long years.

I realise that perhaps I’m more scared of the change than I first thought. After all this time I know I’ve already changed. I've spent so long fighting an unwinnable war, but I've tried to be the Doctor as often as possible. At least I think I have - my memory of the time slightly hazy. Old age has gotten the better of me, it seems. But I know after living on a battel field for so long I must have changed. A battlefield is a place a warrior dwells, no matter the many children's drawings depicting a hero have been drawn for me. They never knew me as a madman in a box - for three hundred years I didn't even have my TARDIS. Instead, I made my home on this planet, limited to the tiny town called Christmas.

I hope I have been a good man and am still the Doctor Clara remembers.

By using the TARDIS phone, I should be able to ring her shortly after my regeneration takes place to talk to her one last time. I lock on the time coordinates to her personal timeline, back on Earth in late December 2013. It had been Christmas Day when she called me, wanting a boyfriend. Way back when this body was young for the first time. Now it was young for the last time. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on to it. For so many years I had yearned to be young again, and now finally I am. But being young doesn’t feel like it did before. The face may have reset - wrinkles smoothed and hair smart and thick again - but my body feels the same. I can still feel the deep ache within my muscles and joints in each measured step I take. The tightness and pain in each bone of my fingers as I wiggle them in time to the melody of the TARDIS. On top of the pain and stiffness of old age, I can also feel the white-hot fire burning in my veins waiting to destroy every cell in my body. It was the regeneration energy rushing through my body and it had already started. Soon I would be rewritten, a new story starting from another ending.

Before, regeneration had only lasted a few seconds, although it would feel much longer at the time. But now I could still feel it burning through me. Each breath fuelled the fire inside me, and I wanted to scream for it all to stop. But I knew it would be useless. Soon I would be thrust into a new body, whether I liked it or not. A new body, hopefully, a younger body. not too young though. I won’t pretend to be someone I’m not anymore. I’ve fought this war longer than I spent running from and then fighting in the Last Great Time War combined. I’ve finally grown up. But the change had already started. I had no control over it. I can’t stop it. But it beats dying, I suppose.

How I had wanted for a new younger body again just so I could fight better. No, no fight. I didn't want to fight, only defend. I'm not a warrior, I'm a doctor. The Doctor. The definite article. The original. It was just another impossible dream on a battlefield and graveyard of millions. I knew had to keep everyone safe, they depended on me. Barnable depended on me. Had depended on me. He was long gone now.

And soon so would I.

The Doctor and his TARDIS could finally leave. We could go back to exploring the universe as we had once before. Hopefully, Clara Oswald will be back by my side too.

Clara Oswald, who I couldn't phone from the console because the phone hadn’t been connected for nearly a millennium. I fought the impulse to slam my hand on the console in my frustration. It would only cause me to lose more strength and cause more pain. It had been so easy to forget for a moment; I hadn't stepped back in here since I took Clara back home six hundred years ago. It was too much of a temptation, but I couldn't leave the people I loved unprotected. The universe would be safer if I stayed here. The Cracks in the Universe were my fault, as was the banishment of my people to a pocket universe. It was all my fault. I had a duty to protect them, both the Time Lords and the rest of the Universe.

I leant against the console to catch my breath before slowly making my way to the phone stored in the door of the Police Box. Being back on the TARDIS had made me forget my age for a moment. I can remember running and laughing and dancing across these floors. Now it seems I can barely walk. It wouldn't be long now. I just needed to hold it back for a few more minutes. With a groan, I pushed myself off the console and back over to the TARDIS doors. I stumbled slightly on my discarded clothes that littered the floor. I hadn't wanted to spend another moment in them. They weren't me. They were the clothes of the peculiar old man who lived in the clock tower. The fabric was the same as that worn by the people I protected - heavy and stiff to last the long winter days. Also, they had been smouldering slightly and starting to itch. Grabbing onto the handrail to steady myself, I opened the doors and swung my upper body out, reaching out to open the door and grab the handset.

Outside the planet was still smouldering, covered in a hazy yellow blanket of thick smoke which smothered the town. Buildings and Daleks were burning alike. I could hear children still crying in fear and the low murmur of the adults trying to comfort them and each other. This place I had sworn to protect was destroyed in my name. Unlike Arcadia, there was only me to blame. I was the only warrior here. But the two places were safe now. I hoped I had somehow managed to save them both.

Chocking on the stale air, I snatched the phone and retreated into the TARDIS before the memories could overwhelm me. I stumble back inside holding the phone to my ear, wishing I could get to the seat to sit down, but I don’t think I will make it that far. My legs feel week and heavy. Before I could contemplate moving the phone from my hand to steady myself on the wall, my left leg spasmed and buckled. With a gasp of pain, I slowly sink to the floor, dropping the phone as I fall. _'Left leg power nap_' my mind supplied. Why did I always schedule one for the most inconvenient time?

Rule twenty-seven: never knowingly be serious.

Propping myself up against the cold metal frame which separated the TARDIS door corridor from the console room, I grasped the phone cord and drag it back towards me. When it was within reach, I pick it up hoping Clara hadn’t suddenly become any quicker at answering her mobile. Thankfully, the dull tone of the dialup echoes through the speaker. Each one seems to drill further through my head. My whole body hurts. It hurts so much.

Please just pick up. Please.

"Hello!" Her voice instantly brightens my darkened TARDIS. I have been alone for so long. Alone on the planet of my death. I knew I would die here, in battel among millions. But somehow the timeline has changed. I was alive. Clara was alive. I had saved her, and she had saved me. I don't yet know what she’s done, but I know the new regeneration and closure of the Crack had been because of her. My Impossible Girl saving me once again on Trenzalore.

"Hello?" she says again and awakens me from my thoughts. It's Clara, my Clara. The young bossy control freak who has no time for nonsense. I haven't heard her voice in so long. Not like this.

"It's me," I force out each word. Each breath hurts so much. I feel as if I'm shouting. In reality, my voice is a whisper in the silent room.

"Yes, it's you, who's this?"

How long has it been for her? Perhaps I've got the timing wrong and the call has been forwarded far into her future. Does she even remember me?

"It's me, Clara. The Doctor." Please, please remember me.

A silence hangs on the line. Our breathing combined as one, both filled with a different type of suffering, both as painful. I already know in my hearts what has happened, yet I still hope I’m wrong.

"What do you mean, _the Doctor_?" she asks. She sounds confused, conflicted. She knows who I am, that much I'm sure of. Is it possible that she has forgotten me, forgotten this version of me already? Maybe I'm wrong, maybe she will, no, has understood from the start. Or maybe she doesn't understand how I can be calling her. To her, I'm dead and gone.

"I'm phoning you from Trenzalore-"

"I don't…" she whispers as I pause for breath. I can hear her breath stutter and know from that soft sound that she is trying to suppress the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks.

"-from before I changed," I continue and confirm her fear. I can’t deny the sinking feeling in my hearts any longer. I don’t need to see the confusion in her eyes as I change into someone, _something_, more alien than she has ever experienced in all her travels with me. I don’t need to watch her backing away from me in distrust, looking for somewhere to hide or something to defend herself with. I don’t need to hear the tiny suppressed sounds fear she makes as she tries to understand what happened. It doesn’t matter that she has memories of ghosts of herself witnessing the same thing happen to me. It’s still not enough.

That’s all still to come for me and my Clara. But to this Clara on the end of a phone, somewhere safe on Earth in the 21st century, I'm long gone and won't be coming back. To her, the man she is with now, who has probably taken her home at her request, isn't me. Isn't _the Doctor_. I had hoped she would still be with me, with him. I had hoped that she would laugh at me and tell me I had nothing to worry about. I had hoped that she would reassure me and tell me I’d see her soon. But she’s seen me change and asked the new man, the stranger to take her home, back to her own time. I can hear it in her voice.

"I mean it's all still to happen for me, it's coming. Oh, it's a-coming… Not long now. I can," I pause again, trying to catch my breath. I can't breathe properly. Why does it hurt so much? "-feel it."

I hear her take her phone away from her ear, clutch it to her chest. I hear her deep breaths and the soft rustle of fabric as she tries to compose herself. In the distance, I can hear the hustle and bustle of human life. It reminds me why I must do this. This phone call isn’t for this version of me – it’s for the future me and his Impossible Girl. I need her to help me find myself again.

"Why?" she finally asks in a shaking voice. I think she has lost the battle to not let her tears fall. "Why would you do this?"

"Because I think it's going to be a whopper and I think you might be scared."

I know something massive is about to happen, no Time Lord has ever survived for the fourteenth time. I'm scared. I’m scared and alone. But I need to make her understand. I'm about to be ripped from this body and thrown into another. Everything I am will change. My personality, my taste buds, my rules wiped away in the golden light. But I'll still be the Doctor. Not a Warrior, not a Hero, a Doctor, just like she asked me to be so many years ago. For her, I'll be the Doctor. And that will have to be enough.

"And however scared you are, Clara, the man you are with right now… the man I hope you are with, believe me, he is more scared than anything you can imagine right now and he… he needs you."

"So, who is it?" a muffled deep voice interrupts. I think it's Scottish, just like Pond's. Amelia Pond.

"Is that the Doctor?" the words slip out before I can stop myself. I can't ask if the voice is me, she doesn't see the man in front of her as me, her Doctor, but as a stranger. A man she doesn't know. But he is me, and I am him. We are one. I hope the voice is ours.

"Is that the Doctor?" The man repeats my question. It’s definitely Scottish. There is no pause in his voice, he sounds sure of himself, confident. The intonation is the same as this voice, the only difference being the deep accent. I'm sure that voice is mine.

"Yes," Clara replies. But not to the man who stands in front of her, but to my voice on the phone. The voice she trusts with her life. I have taken another faith, another pretty young girl who could never refuse my offer to travel through time and space. Oh Clara Oswald, what have I done to you?

"He sounds old," I whine, trying to distract myself. A sudden thought occurs to me. "Please tell me I didn't get old. Anything but old!" I've looked old for centuries and now, my newly regenerated body would be old too. Maybe I’ve finally grown up. That would be nice. I hear Clara chuckle softly to herself. To her and so many companions, I had always been relatively young. So had they. I don't like endings, but we all change. When you think about it, we're all different people, all through our lives. And that's okay, that's good, you gotta keep moving, so long as you remember all the people that you used to be. "I was young. Oh… Is he grey?" My voice is suddenly urgent. I want to be ginger! Why can't I ever be ginger? I get another shot at being ginger. I so hope I am.

"Yes," she confirms, sounding nervous to be the person to break this terrible news to me. I shake my head. That could have been my last chance to be ginger. God knows if I'll ever regenerate again. I was ready to die, and I had accepted it. Everything ends. But to finally be ginger would almost be worth it. But instead, I'm going to be old and grey. Again.

But I'm getting off-topic and I don't know how much time I have left.

"Clara, please, eh, for me, help him," my voice ends in a whisper, tears of my own blurring my vision. "Go on and don't be afraid," I hear the soft click of TARDIS door shutting. I know I'm coming. I'm coming for my Impossible Girl. Soon my Clara would be coming for me too.

"Goodbye Clara," and I don't know what else to say. For her, these will be my last words to her in this voice. So I settle on the truth. "Miss you," I whisper. And I do miss my Clara. Not the one who will be with me shortly, the one who pities me for looking old and becoming week. Nor the one who's angry for abandoning her. The sadness in her eyes as she realises that I have come to terms with my final death. The pain as she watches as I start to lose my mind. No, I miss the girl who's more frightened than she will ever admit but will always do the right thing. Will always be brave. The Soufflé Girl who spends all her free time in the kitchen with flour on her nose or tucked away in the corner of the library. The bossy control freak who talks to me as an equal, while still marvelling at the wonders of the universe. My Clara Oswald.

Clara hangs up without another word. I am left alone. The dial tone drones on. She has gone. Back to her version of me. I'm just a ghost now. An echo of the past. But now I need to be ready for her, my version of Clara. I struggle to my feet and the world seems to spin faster. I move to doors to put the phone back, stopping at the last moment, half though the door. I remember Handles’ last words.

_'You must patch the telephone device back through the console unit.'_

I drop the phone, leaving it hanging from its cable. I'll see it next time I step out the TARDIS. I'll do it then.

Thank you, Handles, and well done. Well done, mate.

I shuffle back inside. I’m still slowly dying of old age. In the silence of the control room, I let the tears fall from my eyes. Soon, I’ll have to be strong again. But at the moment, I allow the pain and the fear to flow freely. It almost drowns the fire still burning softly deep inside.

Up on that old clock tower, the regeneration energy had bust suddenly into every cell of my body. I hadn’t immediately realised what it was, I could just feel it rampaging through my system, destroying and fixing every single atom of me at the same time. The power was more than I’d ever felt before. I’d wanted to scream and curl up in a ball to stop it and try and hold it back. But it had been too powerful. More powerful than any Dalek weaponry. Instead, I had made myself stand up tall and expelled as much as I could from my body, trying to burn thirteen simultaneous regenerations in one hit. I forced it out and up towards the sky where the Dalek fleet remained in orbit. They never stood a chance.

Everything had become a bit blurry after that. Eventually, the fire cooled with the anger in my veins as the last of the Dalek ships burned. I knew better than to hope I had destroyed the race entirely, but I hoped it would be a few millennia before I saw them again. The fire continues to rage within me, slowly fixing the damage of the passing of time. It was contained now, thrumming in time to my heartbeats. I hope I can hold it back until Clara arrived.

I take a deep breath to keep myself in check. I’m still craving something unknown and wander down to the kitchen to see if I can to find something. I try to stand up a little straighter and walk with longer steps as if I don’t feel the pain in each step. I wonder how much excess energy from the regeneration cycle I had used. Perhaps I had used it all, burned through all thirteen at once and would never change again. Or maybe I still had the full set of lives, the first regeneration had just been particularly violent since it had changed time and history. Who knew? Only the Time Lords who had closed the last Crack in the Universe once they had granted another life. I'd have to find another way back to them. Only my way wouldn’t restart the deadliest war in all of time and space.

On the kitchen counter is a bowl of warm thick custard and a small plate of golden fish fingers. Yummy. My Old Girl always knows what I need. I have a slight inkling that my new testbeds won’t appreciate fish fingers and custard like I do. Oh well, his loss. I dip them all in the custard, getting it all over my fingers in the process. I wish I had someone to share them with - Clara despises them. It’s at times like this I miss Amy. And Rory. I miss them both. They would understand.

I hear the soft tapping of the hatch closing. Clara must be putting my phone away. I head back to the console room, fish fingers and custard in my favourite bowl.

He's coming. I'm about to start my next adventure.


	2. The Veil Lifts

"You’ve redecorated," Clara says as she enters my newly refurbished TARDIS. I needed a change to match my new body. I haven’t changed too much; the silver of the metal walls are the same but I’ve added some new bookcases and chalkboards to align them. Wherever we go next will be unchartered territory, and I must be ready. Before I had thought the Universe could be fixed as simply as straightening a bowtie and I’d still have time for a Jammie Dodger afterwards. I don’t think I’m like that anymore.

But I’m also not the same man who shut himself away on a cloud and refused to take part in life. Back then, I had tried to banish all forms of happiness from my darkened TARDIS, refusing to believe I deserved any. I refuse to hide away again. I just wasn’t to run. Run as far and as fast as I can, back out among the stars and the planets. It’s time for me to live my life again.

The TARDIS had also joined in my redecoration. Whilst I was collecting books from several of the libraries onboard, some useful and many that probably aren’t – they just looked important, she’d installed a new Time Rotor. The Gallifreyan that spells the names of all my past companions still sits above, but the Rota is now filled by a welcoming warm yellow light. It’s much brighter in here than it was. Not as bright as my eleventh self’s first desktop theme when I was still so young and naive, but brighter than my ninth self’s dingy control room. I’m not too sure the brighter colours suit my new self, but she’s quite pleased with herself. Some of the buttons and switches have changed around too, not that it matters. I’m used to pressing random buttons whilst looking impressive and talking nonsense based on truth. I still ended up wherever I needed to be. My Old Girl always makes sure of that. 

"Yes," I state, sitting in a battered leather armchair high above Clara’s level. I don't know where the armchair has come from as it just appeared, so how it came to be in such a state is a mystery to me. I should probably find out one day, but for now, I enjoy its comfortable embrace. It’s turned away from the main room, a little distance from my bookshelves. Many of the books are old with battered covers. I’ve no idea how long I’ve had some of these. Others are more recent, yet still well-loved: The Melody Malone series and Summer Falls. Some books are water damaged from the time the swimming pool decided to take a trip to the main library.

"I don’t like it," Clara says with distaste. I know that line, just as I know this face. Each is new, yet strangely familiar. 

"Not entirely convinced myself,” I quickly reply. I can’t look at her yet. "I think there should be more round things on the walls. I used to have lots of round things. I wonder where I put them."

I finally look down to where Clara stands, stroking the console when she doesn’t laugh at my rambling nor tell me to stop. Instead, she stands, half-hidden by the time rotor, glancing around almost indifferently. She’s never got on well with the TARDIS. Well, it wasn’t much of a surprise after I learned what Clara had done once before on Trenzalore. She may have saved my life, but it didn't make up for being in multiple places and times at once, according to my Old Girl. She still played tricks on her even now. Now, that timeline never existed. I wonder if the two of them will finally make up. I look closer at Clara. She's never been one for stroking and talking to the TARDIS. There’s something she’s not telling me. And I think I already know what it is.

I wish I had known what would happen after my regeneration. I would have tried to phone her earlier in her timeline. Instead, I took her to every planet and time zone I could think of in a post regenerative haze as we crashed through the Vortex until we were eventually swallowed by a dinosaur and ended up in Victorian London. I thought I would just sleep for several hours, not abandon her at every opportunity I was given. Even if I always did come back for her, it didn’t excuse what I had done. To her, I’m no longer the Doctor; I’ve changed too much. Not just my body, but my whole personality. No wonder she’s uncomfortable with me. No wonder she looks at me as if I’ve taken away her favourite toy, stolen _her Doctor_. I’m still here after all these years, but to her, I’m gone.

I stand from my chair. Maybe I won’t ring for weeks, months, years. My last incarnation wasn’t known for being on time. I need to do something about Clara. I don’t want to be stuck with a girl who won’t accept me for who I now am, not after I’ve spent the last thousand years trying so hard to be the man she saw I could be.

I take a breath and state to walk down the stairs towards my Impossible Girl. "I’m the Doctor. I’ve lived for over two thousand years and not all of them were good. I’ve made many mistakes and it’s about time I did something about that," I pause as I stand in front Clara. I’ve walked around the console, but she hasn’t tried to hide from me this time. As I walked towards her, she had taken a few tentative steps towards me. This makes me happier than I could care to admit. Maybe there is some hope for the future. I take a moment to watch her. She looks back and our eyes meet. Her eyes seem to grow larger as she looks at me. She may be looking at me now, but she still doesn’t see me. I start by addressing my first point on my list. "Clara, I’m not your boyfriend."

"I never thought you were," the young girl says. It’s only been a few hours for her since she first called me looking for a boyfriend, but she seems much younger whilst I’m so much older. With the body I have now, she never would have called me on that Christmas morning long ago. But it wasn’t her fault; I’d become used to playing that game. Loving and being loved by humans before they blew away like smoke on a breeze. They were all so young to me. They burned brightly before me, loving everything and anything the Universe could offer them. They lit the way when darkness fell like a shroud around me and renewed my hope and wonder when I thought I had seen all that could be seen. I loved them so much, I had tried to become them.

"I never said it was your mistake."

I pull the lever down to start the TARDIS’s flight through the vortex. I’d programmed the coordinates earlier, 25th December 2013, England, Earth. Clara’s home. She hasn’t asked yet, but I think she will. The metallic thrumming that both warmed and froze the hearts of all I’ve encountered encompasses me. She still gives me hope, even as I turn and walk away from Clara, so I no longer have to see the strange new way she looks at me.

“What do you think,” I ask, keeping the question open, as I pivot on the spot, flipping my jacket to show the red lining. I like the new look, myself. Understated – unlike the bowtie – yet still has a slightly magical quality. The crisp white shirt contrasts with the dark navy jacket and waistcoat give a sophisticated and authoritative feel, whilst the black trousers and polished boots are still practical enough for all kinds of trouble.

Clara glances down quickly at my new clothes, before looking back up at my face. She says nothing, just gives me the new look. The look that she’s never given me before, not even when we first met, and she shut her door in my face.

"Do you like it?" I prompt, willing her to say something, _anything_. I incline my head slightly towards my outfit. I already know she doesn’t feel comfortable with my new face, even if she hasn’t asked my directly if I can change back into the Doctor she knew. Yet she still doesn’t say anything. She smiles slightly, but it looks more like a grimace as her eyes become shiny. She turns away and walks towards the doors.

Suddenly, she spins to face me. She takes a quick breath and asks, "Who put that advert in the paper?" She continues to walk backwards, looking at me expectantly. 

Okay, change of subject. Luckily, I already know the answer. Or at least part of the answer.

"Who gave you my number? Along time ago, remember?" I reply in lieu of answering her question directly as I move to the right of the Time Rota so I can still see her. "You were given a number of a computer helpline and you ended up phoning the TARDIS. Who gave you that number?"

"The women. The women in the shop," Clara says, with a little shake of her head. There aren’t many people who know that number. A number that can travel through time. A number that connected my TARDIS in Cumbria in 1207 to a house phone in London in 2013. A number that is known by a woman who knew that Clara and my post regenerative self would need to meet up at Mancini's Family Restaurant in order to stop the robots from killing anyone else. A woman who was able to somehow place an advertisement in a paper in Victorian London.

"Then there’s a woman out there who’s very keen that we stay together,” I say as I lean forwards on the console. The gentle thrumming of the TARDIS changes as she prepares to land. I glance around at her to watch the lights change – a new addition I think – and silently ask her why she couldn’t wait a moment so I could ask Clara one final question. Either my brain’s still cooking or she’s ignoring me.

"How do you feel on the subject?" I ask Clara. Whatever she says next will tell me whether she’s open to still traveling with me or if she is going to leave me alone again. I didn’t give her a choice before. I couldn’t give her that choice. If I had, she would have either died or taken me away from Christmas. I didn’t have a choice.

I honestly don’t know what she’ll say.

Clara looks around the TARDIS, up at the Gallifreyan circling above her, and the Time Rota as it comes to a stop.

"Am I home?" she asks quietly, not looking at me until she has finished her sentence. It’s almost as if by not acknowledging me she doesn’t have to admit she’s asked the question. It’s not _The Question_, but it may as well be.

The journey of 101 places to see is over.

"If you want to be," I reply with a forced laugh. I’d thought I’d have more time. But she’s leaving. And I can’t stop her. They all leave eventually. Perhaps it's for the best. I left her all those years ago to ensure her survival. Although I know I'll never see her again, at least she'll still be alive. Alive, safe, and happy. And it will be her choice.

She doesn’t smile back, but the corner of her mouth twitches upwards once, twice. Each time reaching slightly higher. But her eyes are still wide and sad. "I’m sorry… I’m, I’m so, so sorry, but I don’t think I know who you are anymore," she stutters into the empty voids that used to contain my hearts. At least she has the courage to speak the truth whilst looking at me. The deathly silence hangs between us, neither wanting to say our last words. I don't know what they will be. Perhaps it's better to say nothing. Whatever I say it will be from this strange new man, not her Doctor. I look away and only look back at her when a systematic ringing sounds from her direction. Her mobile. Her connection to the real world. The world that doesn’t contain me anymore.

"You better get that. It might be your boyfriend," I nod towards her. I know I’ve got that fake smile on my face again. I don’t know why my face keeps doing that; it’s all smile and frown and eyebrows. I’ve no reason to smile. But hope sores into my body and mind, picking up the shards of my hearts and rebuilding them, piece by piece. It’s _the_ phone call. It has to be the phone call. The phone call that could save us.

"Shut up. I don’t have a boyfriend," she shoots back before exiting the TARDIS and leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I stare after her for long moments before moving to check the scanner. We’re not too far from where I planned: it’s the 26th of December 2013 rather than the 25th. And we’re in Glasgow by the look of things. Or possibly Motherwell. Clara hasn’t missed much, and I have a tendency to find trouble on Christmas day. On Boxing day, the world goes back to normal. Relatives go home for another year, there’s enough food cooked for the next few days, and the kids aren’t squabbling yet over new toys. The only trouble is caused by humans looking for bargains in the shops rather than lolling in front of the TV on the sofa, sleeping off large dinners, chocolate, and alcohol. Then again, we have landed in the middle of a bustling Highstreet by the look of it. I think I can remember hearing other humans’ go about their daily lives whilst I was talking to Clara from Trenzalore. The comfort it gave me to know that out there somewhere in the past there were humans that were safe and happy. 

I desperately try to remember how long I have to wait until I can speak to Clara again. A minute and a half, I think. A minute and a half until I must leave the safety of my TARDIS and convince Clara to stay with me. A minute and a quarter until I will have to convince Clara to stay with me. A minute until I will know the answer to my question. I walk towards the doors. Softly, deathly. I can hear my two hearts pounding in my chest, my ears. The TARDIS thrums reassuringly behind me. Thirty seconds until I open the doors. Twenty. Ten. My hand moves up to the handle. Five, four, three, two.

One.

The light blinds me for a moment despite it being a cool and overcast day, as I hang half my body out of the doors. I feel a sudden sense of déjà vu as I try to look for Clara. I pinpoint her standing a short distance away, using the wall of a shop for support, her head bowed as she tries to contain her emotions. Her head lifts slightly as she continues to listen to her Doctor on the phone and I can see a single glistening tear shimmering on her cheek.

"So, who is it?" I ask, already knowing the answer. It comes louder than I expect. Outside I sound confident but inside my world hangs in the balance. But I’ve already heard me say it and I will let nothing change that. It's my voice that I heard before, that deep Scottish accent that belongs to the old man with the grey hair. This body is new, yet so familiar. I know this voice as I know this face. I don't yet know what this means. But I do know what comes next.

The other me asks a question he also knows the answer to. Clara looks up towards me. Not at me though. Never at me anymore.

"Is that the Doctor?" I repeat my own question to her.

"Yes," she replies. But not me. Never me. She replies to her Doctor on the end of the line. But I am him and he is me. We are the same. The same two hearts. The same soul. But to her, one exists and the other does not. But the one who exists to her is never coming back and the who doesn’t stand before her. I see her laugh as she answers her Doctor’s next question. I wish I could laugh but the slightest movement could tip my world into the darkness. I am old and grey, two thousand years older than the average lifespan of any human in this time zone. It’s time I accepted this. I shouldn’t even be alive. My age may not be too extreme by Gallifreyan standards, but to live past a thirteenth regeneration was unheard of to me. Am I only alive because of Clara’s help? I’m still sure she did something in order to save me. But why would she do it? Why would she want to keep me alive, but not want to travel with me? What does she want from me? A thousand questions race through my mind, but I can't answer any of them. Is it even possible that she will ever want to travel with me again?

"Yes," Clara smiles slightly this time, glancing over at me. There is a slight hitch in her voice, but it makes me smile again. Her answer suits both my questions. Her last conversation with him is drawing to a close. Eleven’s time will soon be over. Maybe it will be time for Twelve’s.

I watch her silently as she continues her conversation, answering his questions and listening to his advice. I know I did the right thing by ringing her as I see her smile – the first true smile from her these eyes have seen. It hurts that it’s not directed at me, instead watched from a distance as she smiles one last time to her Doctor who can’t even see her. But I can see her now, even if she can’t see me. I’m drawn towards that smile before she even finishes her conversation with him, with me. The TARDIS door shuts with a soft click behind me as I slowly walk towards her. She smiles one final time as she takes the phone away from her ear and pauses a moment before ending the call. An Impossible Girl from twenty-first century Earth ends her journey with the last phone call. It’s only now I can see the symbolism. It’s a journey that started with her phoning me to ask for help and ended with me using the same phone to call across the stars to ask her for help. The Universe is big, it’s vast and complicated, but it does like symmetry.

"Well," I ask, unable to wait any longer. Clara seems to have finally lost her battle with tears as he clutches her phone to her chest and sniffs. She freezes as I speak, almost as if she had forgotten I was there, before sniffing again and wiping her nose on her finger.

"Well what?" she says defensively, although her voice is bright and cheerful, as she turns to face me. She’s smiling as if she hadn’t just been crying and saying goodbye to her best friend a moment earlier. For some reason that makes me slightly angry. I know that the man she just said goodbye to she will never see again. I understand that it might make her angry or upset or want to lash out because I thought I understood what that man meant to her. I thought I knew because that man was me. But instead, she’s embarrassed and hiding herself as if she’s just been caught crying by a stranger. Despite all I have done today, I am still a stranger to her.

"He asked you a question. Will you help me?" I ask. I can’t smile, not anymore. Not until I know her answer.

"You shouldn’t have been listening," she snaps back. To her, we’re still not the same person. The phone call hasn’t changed anything. She’s still going to leave me.

"I wasn’t. I didn’t need to. That was me talking," I say but she continues to look at me accusingly. With a sigh with a shake of my head, I turn to leave her. She’s already said her goodbye to the Doctor. She doesn’t need one from me. I’m just the strange old man who gave her a lift home in a time-travelling taxi. She’s back, safe on Earth in 2013. We can’t be too far from her flat. She can find her own way back for all I care; she certainly doesn’t need me to hold her hand and walk her to her door. There are over seven billion people on this tiny planet at the moment; surely one of them would appreciate my company for a while. I could liberate them from the mind-numbing repeats shown over and over on their TV’s before their sofa ate them. Or was that next century? I don’t know, and right now I don’t particularly care. Maybe I should ask someone from another century, the future or the past, or perhaps I should have a robot companion next. No more complicated human emotion. But even they leave eventually. I still miss Handles.

But I can’t just walk away from her. I’ve spent so long trying to make her proud, but it seems I wasn’t good enough. Without Clara by my side, I’ve changed beyond recognition. I left her to fend for herself in the restaurant because I needed a distraction. There was no point in us both getting caught. I’ve become used to living on a battlefield. I’ve had to look at the bigger picture rather than concerning myself with individual lives. In battle, your aim is to preserve as many lives as possible, no matter the cost. It’s that philosophy that lead me to try and destroy Daleks and Time Lords alike. But it was Clara that changed that. It was Clara Oswald who reminded me to be a Doctor again. Not a Hero, not a Warrior, but a Doctor. I need her by my side if I am to make that change again. But now I’m so lost that even she can’t see that man within me.

"You can’t see me, can you? You look at me and you can’t see me," I say as I turn back towards her, but continue to walk away. Whatever I say won’t change her mind. She’s made her choice. But I can’t bring myself to leave her standing on the street corner. I don’t want her to go. I need her to stay. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.

I’m lost. I have nothing else left to lose.

"You can’t see me, can you? You look at me and you can’t see me. Have you any idea what that’s like? I’m not on the phone, I’m right here standing in front of you. Please, just…" I trail off. I don’t know what to say. "Just see me."

See me one last time and say goodbye properly.

But then something happens. Something this face, these eyes, has never seen before. She stops. She looks. She looks at me. She looks right at me. No longer seeing through me or mentally placing an image of a bow tie and floppy hair, she looks at me. For the first time, she looks at me in the way I’ve seen her do out of the corner of my eye. Previously, that look lasted only a fraction of a second, before changing into a look of fondness or annoyance or slight worry depending on what I was doing. She’d never looked right at me with that look before. The intensity of her gaze makes me slightly uncomfortable. After so long of her not looking at me, it’s a bit weird. She slowly walks towards me, with that strange look in her eyes, until she stops right in front of me. She peers at my face as if she’s never seen it before. I imagen I can see her counting the wrinkles or working out the percentage of grey hair or whatever it is schoolteachers do in their spare time. I see her finally taking in my outfit, despite the fact I’m no longer posed in the ideal possession to model it. In the future, I will ensure to dramatically flip my lining to reveal the red underlay as often as possible. But for now, I’m frozen under her scrutinizing stare. I don’t know where to look. I keep glancing down at her, leaning back slightly as she is so close to me, but am unable to hold her gaze.

"Thank you," she finally whispers with a ghost of a smile on her lips. She looks up and her face seems to open up, no longer hidden. Maybe I am the Doctor after all. For the first time, she looks at me and she sees me for who I am. She’s known for a long time now that I can be a Warrior, but she always sees through that to the Doctor underneath. Maybe that is something that’ll never change. But that would mean that I’ll always be the Doctor, no matter what I do. My face, my personality, my morals will always change. But my soul is the same. I am the Doctor.

"For what?" I wonder. For the first time she sees me in this face, she thanks me, but what have I done? I replaced her best friend and disappeared leaving a confused toddler in a grown man’s body. I left her in a different time zone with only a lizard lady from the dawn of time and her wife, and a strange mutant homicidal potato. What has gone right since this face arrived? Unless she is thanking me for what my past self had done. Thanking me for taking her away to the stars, but this was goodbye. Perhaps this was her way of saying goodbye one last time.

"Phoning," she answers softly. My past self would be jumping up and down at this news. But I can’t think like that, not when Clara is no longer seeing that barrier. Maybe this means she’s open to travelling with me again. Maybe she will stay. Maybe- My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a vice-like grip encompassing me and pulling me down. What’s happening? Clara! I’m being hugged by Clara. My arms flail worse than my first kiss with River. What do I do?

"I… I don’t think that I’m a hugging person now," I manage to stutter as Clara shows no sign of letting go any time soon. Before she wouldn’t come within a meter of me, now I can’t escape her.

"I’m not sure you get a vote," I can hear the smile that has formed on her lips, but I can’t see it. I don’t want her to hide her face from me again, but I can’t make myself move. I’m frozen to the spot once more, but there’s nowhere I’d rather be. I need my bossy young control freak, who’s more frightened than she will ever admit yet always has the strength to do what needs to be done. My Impossible Girl who has so much strength she would regularly let me borrow some to prop myself up.

"Whatever you say," _Boss_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! I can't believe it's been 5 years since Peter Capaldi's first episode, 'Deep Breath'. He was such a wonderful Doctor and a brilliant actor. Whilst some of his episodes didn't quite hit the mark, the Twelfth Doctor had some of the most iconic scenes in NuWho. The monologues Capaldi was able to give were particularly stunning and I love to rewatch them over and over! I absolutely loved this little scene between the Twelfth Doctor and Clara, especially after the tear-jerking cameo made by Matt Smith's Eleventh Doctor.
> 
> Peter Capaldi - you will forever be our scary handsome genius from space in our hearts (even if you do run like a penguin with its arse on fire!)


End file.
